


Wild For You

by stpitbull



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stpitbull/pseuds/stpitbull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ahahaha okay so yeah this requires explanation. I couldn't choose between the Gritty Realistic Sad ending and the Unrealistic But Happy ending so I took a poll on the kinkmeme and the consensus was "post both". So yeah. For the Hardcore Extra Bittersad ending, read the happy one and then the sad one imagining it takes place about a week later or something. ONWARD.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You look like  _shit_ , honey."   
  
Pacer growled, moving through the room with the restrained fury and accompanying grace of a storm, tossing a chair over ineffectually before slumping down in another one, frustration eating at his nerves. Sergio sighed and crooked a finger under his chin, and Pacer jerked away. "Oh, stop being a giant well-coiffed baby and let me look at the damage," Sergio sighed, and Pacer relented, sitting still and glaring daggers as long, slim fingers inspected his face.   
  
"Who'd you piss off?" Sergio asked bluntly.   
  
Pacer hissed as Sergio's thumb brushed over a particularly nasty scrape on his cheekbone, skinned from when that goddamned courier had knocked him onto the sidewalk with a sucker punch. "More like who pissed  _me_  off," he muttered, swatting the inspecting hand away. Sergio just kept looking at him with those goddamn patient eyes and he said, "The King's new favorite pet."   
  
"Ah, the courier who helped out at the Old Mormon Fort," Sergio said knowingly, stepping back and opening a drawer, rifling through the cluttered contents. "Hear she's been a big hit."   
  
"She's a  _bitch_  is what she is," Pacer snarled, anger flaring fresh inside of him. It wasn't enough that the courier sweettalked the King into calling off his fight, she had to start a rumble too, punching him and hollering about how he just got a bunch of innocent kids killed. Like he'd somehow missed the corpses of his fellow Kings. " _And_ she swindled me outta two hundred large, so, there goes that saintly image she's been spreading around."   
  
Sergio's mouth quirked up. "Hey, she gave you a bloody nose -- she can't be  _all_  bad." Pacer glared at him, and the slim barber had the nerve to laugh. "God, your 'sullen' face is hilarious. You look like a wet puppy. So is that what you and the King were fighting about loud enough for all of us to hear?"   
  
Pacer's fists clenched and unraveled, the swirl of anger and exhausted making a mess of his insides. "Didn't figure everyone could hear us," he muttered.   
  
Sergio lifted his face again, a tube of antibacterial cream in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other. Pacer hissed at the sting as Sergio started cleaning some of his nastier cuts, but sat still. "It was all muffled, at least for us on the ground floor," he said, "but yeah. Hard to miss."   
  
"If he wants to side with that NCR bitch, that's fine by me. So what if that means it's up to me to keep Freeside alive just 'cause he wants to get his dick wet? Fine."   
  
Sergio snerked. "Green's not a good color for you, honey."   
  
Pacer narrowed his eyes, and Sergio didn't even flinch. Little bastard never did. "I ain't  _jealous_ ."   
  
Sergio just made this infuriating little knowing hum and continued cleaning Pacer's wounds.   
  
"I ain't," Pacer said, Sergio putting the cap back on the cream. "I'd be glad to see that uppity slut crawl right back out into the wastes, get her flat ass back to California. Wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole unless it was to strangle her."   
  
Sergio snorted, rising and putting away the tube of medicine. "The King's not the one you're jealous of, sweetie, and we both know it."

"Oh,  _fuck you_ ."   
  
Sergio closed the drawer and turned, leaning back against the dresser and crossing his arms. "Look, I know that your authority issues are a core part of your general  _deal_ \--"   
  
Pacer sputtered. "I-- I don't have  _'authority issues'_ !"   
  
"Come over here."   
  
"Don't tell me what to fuckin' do."   
  
Sergio just raised an eyebrow and Pacer fumed. "As I was saying. It's cute how you like to play rebel and god knows you wear a black eye well but have you ever considered  _not_  being a giant asshole to the man who loves you more than anything in the whole world just because he wants you to stop  _hurting people_ ?"   
  
Pacer stood up, chair skidding with a high screech as he knocked it back. "Like you know anything. Don't know why I even  _came_  here."   
  
Sergio shrugged easily, turning around and busying himself with organizing his tools. "You want someone to suck your dick and send you on your way, go to Gloria. I told you not to expect that from me."   
  
" _Fine_ ," he said, stomping out of the room. "I'll go see Gloria, then. 'Least she won't waste my time trynna tell me who I am."   
  
"Oh, and by the way?" Sergio called to his turned back. "You lost your haircut privileges. Come back when you're not getting our boys killed in pointless fights, sugar."


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't even know why he was here.   
  
Pacer felt like some kind of caged animal, and his leash just got a good tightening. The worst part was how the King talked to him like he was goddamn child, instead of the last man who remembered his real name. But he just sat and listened at his best friend regurgitated the bullshit his new girlfriend had fed him. Pacer didn't even know why he'd agreed to play nice anymore. Maybe he was just that fuckin' tired. Maybe he was getting old.   
  
He had too much nervous energy and no squatters left to take it out on, and wandering the streets would provide too much temptation. Naw, by Pacer's count he was long overdue for an escape. He shoved his way up the stairs and had slammed the door to his room behind him when he registered Sergio there.   
  
Sergio flinched just a little at the sudden  _slam_  but otherwise looked unbothered, standing up from where he had been crouching near Pacer's bed and crossing his arms over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "Wow. So  _that's_  what your hair looks like after a week with no maintenance. God, I really  _am_  vital here."   
  
Pacer silently damned the little tug he'd gotten in his belly when he's saw Sergio near his bed, when he realized this was the first time they'd been alone since that fight. He smoothed a hand over his hair and said, "What can I say, Gloria likes to pull on it while I go down on her. S'hard to get it just right after that."   
  
The flash of hurt in Sergio's eyes was so quick and so completely covered that Pacer thought he might have imagined it, but he still counted it as a victory. "So," he said. "Why the fuck are you in my room? If you're looking for forgiveness you should've started on yer knees."   
  
Sergio's eyes went hard and he remained perfectly still. "Forgiveness?" he repeated. " _Why_  would I be here for forgiveness?"   
  
"For  _abandoning_  me, maybe?"   
  
Sergio sighed harshly and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You giant goddamn baby, I  _swear_  to  _god_ \--"   
  
"For siding with that NCR bitch instead of  _me_ , the guy you've known for years?"   
  
"Okay,  _first_  of all," Sergio snapped, looking him dead in the eyes and damn near knocking him back with how fierce he suddenly looked, "I did  _not_  'side with that NCR bitch', you  _ass_ . She can rot for all I care, I sided with you  _not getting yourself killed_ , and not  _being an asshole to your best friend_ . So tell me again how I need to get on my knees and suck my way back into your good graces."   
  
Something hot and sharp always seemed to lance right through Pacer whenever Sergio got like this. Everyone else in the School -- hell, in Freeside -- acted like they knew the hierarchy, treated him like the King's second-in-command. This little punk never did. Never had. "Howsabout you get out of here," he snarled, stomping over to his bed and looking past Sergio.   
  
Sergio took a deep breath and shrugged lightly. "Fine. That's how you're gonna be, I'm gone."   
  
Sergio hadn't reached the door when Pacer looked down and realized, "Were you messing with my stash?"   
  
Anger flared inside him when Sergio turned around to face him, his hand resting on the doorknob. "It's not your stash anymore." Pacer crouched and opened the metal box to find all his Jet gone, a handful of doses of Fixer in its place. "I sold it," Sergio said casually, like he was discussing the weather. "Used the money to buy you some Fixer from the Followers and donated the rest. Told Dixon that if he sold to you ever again I would sneak into his home at night and sodomize him."

Pacer was across the room in three quick strides and was gripping the front of Sergio's shirt in his fists, slamming him up against the door.  _Fuck_ , the kid didn't even looked scared. Like he knew this would happen. This was a real bad time to be impressed with him. Even worse time to realize Pacer had missed the way he smelled. "You  _goddamn punkass shitsmear_ ," he growled. "The  _fuck_  do you think you are? The  _fuck_  makes you think you got the right? This some kinda power play? You want me to be miserable?"   
  
"Holy shit, you're the most melodramatic thing," Sergio said, still completely unfettered.   
  
Pacer kept ranting. "'Cause it seems like that's what you want."   
  
"What I  _want_  is for you to  _not die_ ," Sergio said, placid face finally getting some anger. Even now Pacer had to admit he wore an angry brow well. "What I  _want_  is for you to stop being such a self-destructive prick. Do you know how hard it is trying to handle your storms? I'm fucking exhausted from trying to keep you from going under without getting dragged down myself." Sergio sighed harshly and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Leave it to me to fall for a  _violent addict_  with a  _heart condition_ ..."   
  
"I know my limits, asshole."   
  
"Yeah except that you  _don't_ ," Sergio snarled. "You have no  _idea_  what I just--"   
  
"And you sound like that NCR bitch."   
  
"Do  _not_  compare me to her," Sergio hissed, his eyes going hard. "Okay? Like I said, she can rot. She can drag her ass back to California and leave us all the hell alone. That's the one thing we agree on right now. But she's not here, sugar, so stop hiding behind her and deal with  _me_ ."   
  
"Fine," Pacer said, pushing Sergio up harder against the door and leaning in. "You want me to deal with you? Just  _fine_ . What the fuck gave you the right to go through my shit and sell my stash? How'd you even find it?"   
  
Sergio grunted softly as Pacer's fists in his shirt dug into his chest. "To answer  _both_  your questions, kitten, I saw someone else fucking with it. And you may be an  _unbelievable_  asshole but, like I said, I don't want you to die."   
  
Pacer just growled at him again, wishing he'd be scared, wishing he'd stop smelling good, like the tonics and pomades he spent all day around and that intimate scent only Pacer knew, as far as he was concerned, that had a way of cutting through his anger and soothing him. Which was the last fucking thing he wanted right now.   
  
Sergio's gaze softened, and for a moment he looked utterly sincere. "Look, just... take the Fixer. Okay? You weren't always a junkie, just like you weren't _always_  this level of asshole."   
  
Pacer let go of his shirt and shoved him aside. "Would've never started fucking you if I knew it'd make you think you got to tell me what to do," he said, pulling the door open.   
  
"I was telling you what to do long before that," Sergio sighed.   
  
Pacer stomped out into the hall. And because someone upstairs was clearly mocking him, he managed to pass that fucking courier, no doubt on her way to the King's room. She scowled at him and nodded, and it wasn't until she had passed and disappeared behind the King's door that Pacer registered the long, thin red mark on her face, ranging diagonally from her forehead to her chin. He fell back and could hear the King's muffled voice through the door. "Hell fire, darlin', what happened to your pretty face?"   
  
"It'll be fine," he heard her reply. "Just got caught somewhere I wasn't supposed to be."


	3. Chapter 3

Pacer ran his fingers through his freshly trimmed hair, savoring the feeling before Sergio gathered up his pomade and styling combs. "Admit it," Sergio said, setting up his supplies. "You missed me."   
  
"I missed  _this_ ," Pacer said, closing his eyes as Sergio set to work. "That's all I'm copping to."   
  
And it was all he was gonna cop to, dammit. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the feeling of Sergio's long, slim fingers in his hair, working in the sweet-smelling pomade. Some small part of him, buried under acres of bravado, wanted to apologize, while some other part of him acknowledged with something shockingly close to shame that this was as close to an apology as he was going to give, just coming back and reclaiming his hair privileges. The best, and worst, part was that Sergio seemed to know. And accepted it, just like he always did. That was just how Sergio was with him: wouldn't take his bullshit, but didn't try to get anything more out of him. Didn't make any demands. Those messier emotion-feeling parts of him knew that Sergio deserved a better man. But even they weren't about to give him up.   
  
"There," came the barber's voice after a few minutes of precise styling, "you look like a King again." Pacer opened his eyes, rising from the chair and taking some time to admire Sergio's handiwork in the mirror, Sergio at the basin at the far end of the room rinsing his combs.   
  
Pacer did look like a proper King again, gingerly patting down the sides of his hair. Wondered when he'd get back to acting like one. "It was her. Wasn't it?"   
  
Sergio didn't even flinch. Didn't even look up from his basin. "I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
There had to be about a dozen more graceful ways to approach the subject, but Pacer didn't have the best track record with graceful. "The courier. She was the one fuckin' with my stash. I've seen the thugs you cut up, Serge, only Figaro can make marks like that."   
  
Sergio was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, he was quiet. "Someone was paying her to assassinate you," he said, eyes still on his work. "Found out about your...  _condition_ , so she was making your Jet lethal. I was ready to kill her, but she said it was all to stop your bullshit attacks on the Squatters. I told her to talk to the King. And that if she ever went after you again I'd slit her throat."   
  
Pacer had pieced together that first part. Wasn't hard. But he didn't know what to do with the odd twist in his chest at that last part. He approached the barber and stood behind him, hands settling on Sergio's hips as he leaned in to press a firm kiss against his neck. "I don't deserve you," he murmured, lips brushing against skin muffling the words.   
  
Sergio gave an amused snort. "No. You don't." But he leaned back against Pacer's chest, into the pair of arms that wrapped around his waist. Tilted his head to better accommodate the trail of kisses Pacer was pressing into his neck, wandering up to his ear, drawing out a delicious little shudder. "And for the record, sugar," Sergio said, Pacer loving how low and rough his voice had gotten, "if you ever violently slam me up against a door again without intentions of fucking me against it, we're through. For good."   
  
That was as close to forgiveness as Sergio was gonna give. Pacer knew. And it was enough for him. He chuckled against the shell of Sergio's ear, "I'll keep that in mind."


	4. Chapter 4

" _Don't fucking stop_ ," Sergio panted against the door, punctuated by the slight scrape of fingernails on wood as his hand closed into a fist.   
  
Pacer smiled to himself and shifted on his knees, hands spreading Sergio open further. He lapped deeper at his ass, ears full of Sergio's tight restrained moans and the slick sounds of him beating off. He fastened his lips to Sergio's hole and sucked hard, drawing forth a moan that anyone on the floor was bound to hear.   
  
Good. Let 'em.   
  
He kept sucking with lips and tongue, the stubble on his face wet with sweat and rubbing pink spots against fair skin, Sergio sliding against the door and pushing back against his mouth.   
  
"Admit it," Pacer said against his skin. "You missed me."   
  
Sergio laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into another moan as Pacer pressed a spitslicked finger into him. "I missed  _this_ ," he echoed. "That's all I'm copping to."   
  
Pacer added a second finger and laved around them, working Sergio open. "Get off your knees and drag me to the bed," Sergio ordered in between his ragged panting.   
  
Pacer got off his knees, but pressed against Sergio's bare back, still fingering him and nuzzling roughly against his ear. "It was my understanding," he said, working his fingers faster and feeling Sergio melt as he brushed consistently against that tight bundle of nerves, "that if I slam you into a door, I have to fuck you against it. Your rules, baby."   
  
Sergio looked over his shoulder and shakily grinned as best he could with his face contorted in ecstasy. "Well I'm not gonna argue," he said, murmuring happily as Pacer nipped his ear, pressed a free hand into neck and twisted his face around so he could kiss him deeply, languidly.    
  
Anyone in the hall could  _definitely_  hear it when Pacer was pushed into him, fucking him in earnest. If the moaning didn't give them away, the noises of the door had to. But how was he expected to give a fuck when Sergio was panting his name, rocking back against his cock, hair a mess, entire damn body glowing. He dug his fingertips into Sergio's hips, skin flushed rosy and slick with sweat. Sergio gave a ragged whine and Pacer gripped harder, slamming into him. He wanted to be kissing bruises tomorrow. Get some of his own. He had a lot of apologizing to do.   
  
It was over too soon, but they had all night. He'd drag Sergio to bed as ordered, once he could get his knees to work. For now it was enough to be collapsed against him, pressing a firm kiss into the nape of his neck, listening to him catch his breath, feel the arrhythmic shudder and pound of his own heart.    
  
Sergio wriggled beneath him, pushing off of the door. He chuckled softly, still breathless. "You're kinda of crushing me, sugar," he purred affectionately.   
  
"Yeah," Pacer mumbled against his skin, nose full of his scent. "Yeah, I know."


	5. The Realistic Unhappy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha okay so yeah this requires explanation. I couldn't choose between the Gritty Realistic Sad ending and the Unrealistic But Happy ending so I took a poll on the kinkmeme and the consensus was "post both". So yeah. For the Hardcore Extra Bittersad ending, read the happy one and then the sad one imagining it takes place about a week later or something. ONWARD.

Another sick meaty  _thud_  and Pacer's head was swimming, white stars bursting in his vision and the sharp tang of blood in his mouth. He had gotten too complacent on having back-up, he was seeing, now that most of them were either dead or too afraid of pissing off the King to join in the fights. Less rebels than he used to have meant an unfair ratio of Kings to Squatters. It was always unfair, but it used to be in his favor.   
  
A boot in his gut and he vaguely realized he was on the ground, cold concrete underneath him and yeah, yeah he had been enjoying a nice little escape when he busted the squatters in this alley, that's how it had started. He closed his eyes. Time passed.   
  
And then he was warm, and hurt all over. His limbs creaked as he moved among something soft... his bed, he was in his bed. His ears were still inundated with a sort of ringing, but he could hear the gentle slosh of water. Quiet footsteps. Felt a warm washcloth dabbing at his face.   
  
His eyelids cracked open and he saw the ceiling, and he saw Sergio, quietly cleaning the blood and dirt off his face, gingerly slathering medicine over his open cuts. The sting of it dragged him petulantly towards consciousness, and the sharp throb of self-awareness penetrated his senses. He breathed in heavily, and Sergio's eyes flicked towards his before resolutely keeping away. There was a grim set to his face. That attempt at a blank expression that he got when he was just barely holding in some kind of ache. Pacer had it memorized.   
  
"Serge--" he started, the word a dry croak.   
  
"Just don't," Sergio whispered, still tending his wounds, still not meeting his eyes.   
  
The problem with Jet was that it didn't last long. Pacer got that that was the  _point_  -- get addicted easy, spend more and more caps for the next fix. And right now, distinctly sober and feeling a twist in his gut at the look on Sergio's face, he pretty desperately needed to refresh his high.   
  
Sergio rose, putting the bloody washcloth into the washbasin he had brought in, setting the antibiotic cream next to it, and just stood there looking at the wall for a long time, hands steadying himself on the edge of the dresser. Pacer watched his back. Then he slowly turned and stood by the bed, arms crossed tightly around himself. "I believed you this time," he said softly, no light to his voice, in his eyes. "I don't know why. I don't know why I let myself be so stupid, why I thought this time could possibly be different."   
  
Pacer tried to sit up, sharp pain singing out in his ribs. "Sergio--"   
  
"Just... don't," Sergio raised a hand to stop him. "I just... can't anymore. I hope it was a good fight. Because you just lost me for good."   
  
He turned on his heel, started to leave. Pacer watched him go. He stared at the closed door for a few seconds, and settled back in his bed, and thought about the first time Sergio had made the Kings. About the bright, enthusiastic kid who was just a little too much sunshine for Freeside. Pacer reached under his bed, body twisting cruelly, and dug a hit out of his stash, and tried to forget him. Like Freeside had.


	6. The Ending Sergio Deserves

Sergio stretched his lithe body as his mind slowly clawed its way to full consciousness, delicious little tingles sparking across his skin as relief came to some of his more sore joints and muscles. A fully lucid Pacer taking him to bed had a manner of leaving him like this.   
  
He rolled onto his back and the lack of warmth beside him shot an instant ache straight to his gut. Not even fully awake and he was already disappointed. Wasn't  _this_  going to be a fun day. He dragged a hand through his unruly bedhead and took a deep breath, not yet ready to scold himself for letting some of his old idealism take the wheel. But as awareness began piercing his slowly dispersing haze of grogginess, he noticed a solid weight at the foot of the bed. "Noticed" meaning "accidentally kicked at".   
  
He looked up, saw Pacer sitting on the edge of the bed, looking back at him and then away, exhaling sharply. "This is some powerful shit, man," he said under his breath.   
  
Sergio sat up, and  _wow_  it was way too early to feel fresh outrage curling inside of him. " _Seriously_ ? You couldn't even wait until I was out of your  _bed_  to get high? Where did you even get more Jet?"   
  
"Not Jet," Pacer said, and he suddenly lurched like he'd been hit with a wave of powerful nausea. "You sure that was Fixer? Sure Dr. Farkas didn't just give you poison?"   
  
Sergio moved to the foot of the bed, sheets pooling around his waist, and leaned against Pacer's back. "It's a side effect of your system being flushed. Means it's working."   
  
" _Shit_ , it's the worst."   
  
Sergio rubbed at his arm soothingly. "I know, sugar, but when it's done it's done."   
  
The two sat together quietly as Pacer rode out the nasty process, Sergio resting his head against his shoulder and lightly stroking his arm. After a while, Pacer sucked in a deep breath. "Think that was the last one," he sighed.   
  
Sergio tucked his head down, forehead pressed against Pacer's back. "Thank you for taking it," he said softly.   
  
He felt Pacer shifting, and looked up to meet his face as he turned on the bed. He had almost forgotten what those eyes could do to him when they were sober, the way they could steal his breath when they were looking at him for real. What got him in this beautiful mess in the first place. Pacer reached out to thread a hand in his hair, leaned in to kiss him slow and soft, with a tenderness Sergio wouldn't have even imagined he possessed. "It's bullshit, you havin' to thank me for manning up," Pacer muttered when he broke the kiss.   
  
Something about being kissed like that while his body still wore the marks of the previous night's escapades had made Sergio's heart beat a little faster, but he was always good at thinking on his feet, even if his mind was being derailed. "Call it whatever you want, I'm just grateful that you took it. Crossing my fingers that it lasts."   
  
Pacer looked down, shook his head. "You shouldn't have to be grateful when the jackass you're with does the right thing for a change."   
  
This was definitely unfamiliar territory, some wild emotional frontier and Sergio's natural instinct was to defuse it. "Well, technically," he said, "I'm not with you, remember?"   
  
He had forced a lightness to his tone but Pacer was still heavy, in the way he looked at him, in the way he spoke. "I know," he said. "I want that to change. I want a lot of things to change."   
  
He gave a sort of helpless gesture, then sighed heavily, leaning in and resting his head on Sergio's collarbone. Sergio's fingers instinctively went to thread through his hair. "I'm so goddamn tired," Pacer said quietly against his skin. "I'm so tired of being angry all the time. Everything about my turf is changing and no matter what I do, it just keeps changing."   
  
Sergio made a soft noise of understanding. "You can only wave your arms at a bear to make it leave so many times before it just gets wise and eats you. I hate how Freeside has changed too, you know."   
  
"How in the hell do you handle it? How are you so happy all the time?"   
  
Sergio gave a mirthless laugh. "What gave you the impression I was happy? I'm just as miserable as anyone else here."

Pacer lifted his head and looked at him, reaching up a hand to cup his face. "Let me change that. I want to be the one to change that for you."   
  
Something twisted in Sergio's gut and he lightly swatted Pacer's hand away. "Okay, honestly, what brought this on? When did you decide this?"   
  
"Around the time I realized that I wasn't sleeping because I was just listening to you breathe."   
  
Sergio sighed. "You think that sounds romantic, but that's just creepy."   
  
"Liar." Pacer shifted closer to him, looking at him intently. "When you found that NCR woman in here, did you think about what would've happened if you did actually kill her before you started slashing?"   
  
If he had killed the woman who was a hero to the NCR, who had done so much to help Freeside since her very first visit, who the King adored so much he'd even entrusted her with Rex... If Sergio had killed her like he'd wanted when he realized what she was trying to do, the consequences wouldn't have just been severe, they would have been fatal. He'd have been skinned alive.   
  
"All I thought about," Sergio admitted to the loose thread he was picking at on the bedsheets in his lap, "was what it'd be like having to bury you."   
  
Two warm hands lifted his face and Pacer kissed him fiercely, crawling into his lap until he fell back into the mattress and pressing his weight on top of him.   
  
"This pattern has to stop, okay?" Sergio said, damning his voice for already shaking with his rising heartrate. And he knew he was saying too much but everything was coming out now and he didn't want to stop it. "I can't do it anymore. You can't kiss me like that and just break my heart again. Why in the hell do you always break my heart?"   
  
Pacer looked at him solidly, smoothing a hand through his hair. "Because I've been living under the idea that killin' a man made me more of a man, and lovin' one made me less of a man."   
  
"Jesus, that is  _so stupid_ . I'm serious, that is-- that is  _unforgivably_  stupid, honey."   
  
"I know. And it's done. I'm done with that, for good. No more running away from this, I promise you."   
  
"I have no reason to believe you," Sergio said softly, even as wild hope was skittering through his limbs. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. He very nearly felt sick from it.   
  
"So let me prove it to you," Pacer said, dropping his head and brushing his nose against Sergio's. "I wanna be the kind of man you deserve."   
  
"That man doesn't get wasted on chems," Sergio said, trying to hang on to his resolution even as warmth flooded his body. "That man doesn't pick pointless fights." He let his head fall back, Pacer kissing at his throat. "He doesn't get violent with me unless we've established a safeword. And he doesn't fuck other people."   
  
Pacer's hands raked down his body and he nosed at his jaw. "Let me be that man," he said, the words spreading hot against his ear.   
  
Sergio groaned as Pacer writhed against him, pressing him down into the mattress. "This is the last time I make this mistake," he swore breathlessly.   
  
"I believe you," Pacer said, hands settling possessively on his hips. "And I'm gonna make it count."


End file.
